


Leaving On A Jet Plane

by eternaleponine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clexa Week 2019, F/F, Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 16:53:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17922680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: During the day, Clarke works for a bank.  At night she makes extra money as a bartender at a bar near the airport.Lexa is a frequent flyer who happened upon Clarke's bar after one trip, and now can't seem to stay away... but she also can't bring herself to make a move.  Or, y'know, eye contact.When a massive storm cancels Lexa's flight and they end up alone together at the bar, will one of them finally make a move?





	Leaving On A Jet Plane

The bell on the door jangled, and for once it was quiet enough in the bar for Clarke to hear it. She looked up from her phone, which she had been using to obsessively refresh her social media apps, hoping that someone somewhere was having a more exciting night than she was. 

"You can come in," she said, smiling at the figure that hesitated in the door. "Despite appearances, we _are_ open." 

The place was empty. Even the diehard regulars had left early or not shown up at all, deciding, Clarke assumed, to weather the storm at home with whatever booze they had stashed. Not that they had a lot of regulars to begin with; being located so close to the airport, most of their clientele was people who were just passing through, here today and gone tomorrow. 

"Seriously, in or out," Clarke said, doing her best impression of a disgruntled old person. "We're not paying to heat the outdoors!" For a second, she thought her joke might have backfired, as the person – probably a woman, but bundled into so many layers it was honestly a little hard to tell – looked back over their shoulder like they might turn around and walk away. Finally, though, they stepped in, brushing the snow from their shoulders and sleeves and stomping their feet to clear the caked slush from their feet. 

It was shaping up to be a hell of a storm; the worst in the last few years, and in the top ten, maybe the top five, of Clarke's lifetime. Her boss (who was somewhere sunny and warm, naturally) had called her around noon, begging her to come in for the evening shift because no one else would take it. She'd tried to refuse, because she didn't like to work at the bar when she had to go in to her day job the next morning, but when he'd offered to pay her triple her normal wage, she'd caved. 

The only other person who'd reported for duty was one of the cooks. If anyone came in to eat, he would have to double as the dishwasher. No one had... until now.

The newcomer unwound the scarf from her face, and Clarke's pasted-on smile softened into something more genuine. The girl – woman, really, she was no more a girl than Clarke was, and Clarke knew that her days of girlhood were a decade plus in the past – wasn't a regular, exactly, but she wasn't _not_ a regular. She showed up often enough that Clarke recognized her face... and other parts of her, but she tried not to let her eyes linger too long on those... but they'd never spoken. She always ordered something to eat to go along with what she was drinking (or maybe it was the other way around) so her drink was always brought to her; she didn't have to come up to the bar. 

Sometimes, when Clarke caught her glancing at her out of the corner of her eye for the second or seventh or dozenth time, she thought that the woman's avoidance of the bar was intentional. Most of the time, though, she acknowledged that she was probably giving her allure a little too much credit.

Tonight, Clarke decided, she was going to find out.

"You can sit at a table if you want," Clarke said, "but it'll be easier for me if you sit at the bar. I'm the only one here." 

The woman's eyes flicked from one side of the room to the other as if she needed to verify for herself that there really was no one else here. Slowly, she made her way over to the bar and eased herself onto one of the stools, moving gingerly like she was in pain, or maybe like she thought the bar, or Clarke herself, might bite.

"Only if you a—" Clarke bit back the words before more of them could escape, grateful for the dim lighting that she hoped would cover the sudden rosy tinge to her cheeks. _Seriously, Griffin? 'Only if you ask nicely'?_

"Sorry?" The woman had settled herself onto the stool, and her wrists rested against the edge of the bar, long, elegant fingers curving over its surface. 

"Nothing," Clarke said. "What can I get for you? The usual?"

The woman just blinked at her, and Clarke had never seen her up close enough to notice what a beautiful shade of green her eyes were, a green that she might spend hours mixing and remixing paint to get the exact shade of. Her throat worked as she swallowed, and then the tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her full lower lip before she shut her mouth completely and nodded. 

"Coming right up," Clarke said, and ducked into the back to relay the order to Murphy, who rolled his eyes but got up and went to the grill. She went back to the bar and grabbed a glass, mixing a rum and coke and then, just to see what the woman would do, she dropped in a cherry. She was about to slide it across the bar when she stopped, realizing that as fun as it was to mess with her, just a little, she still had a job to do, and there was one rule that she never, ever broke. "I just need to see some ID." 

"Oh. Right." The woman's hands dropped to her lap, patting her hips, and then she ducked her head. "Sorry. Just a sec." She went over to where she'd hung up her coat and rifled through the pockets. When she came back, she slid a card across the bar to Clarke.

Clarke picked it up, turning it to check the holograms, her eyes flicking from the picture to the person in front of her and back again, making sure they were one and the same. And of _course_ she was the one person in the history of ever that even the DMV couldn't get a bad picture of. Clarke's eyes finally landed on the name, and she did a double take. 

"Wait a second," she said before she could think about it. "I know you!"

* * *

Lexa's heart, which had been firmly lodged in her throat, dropped abruptly into her stomach. When she'd walked into the bar and saw that there was no one there but her and the bartender - _the_ bartender, the one who she kept coming back to see even though she'd never actually worked up the nerve to talk to her, or even make eye contact for more than an accidental second – she'd seriously considered turning around and finding somewhere else to go. Because it was awkward enough being in the same room with Clarke (Lexa only knew her name because she'd overheard someone saying it once) when it was full of other people to distract Clarke from the fact that no matter how hard Lexa tried, she couldn't keep her eyes from straying back to her. 

With the place empty? She stood no chance at all.

But she'd come in anyway, and sat at the bar because Clarke had asked her to, and for a fraction of a second, she'd let herself think that maybe, somehow, this was the universe nudging her into action. 

Turns out it was actually the universe getting the last laugh. Because Clarke knew her, apparently, and that never went anywhere good.

"Oh?" Lexa asked. "How did I screw you?"

Now Clarke was the one blinking, struck mute by surprise, and then her face went from pale pink to crimson. "Not like that!" she said. "I didn't mean—"

Lexa's face was lit aflame. She hadn't even considered the possibility that Clarke might go _there_. "Oh. Oh no. Sorry, no, that's not what I meant. Not that you're not—not that I wouldn't... Shit." She slid off the stool, taking a step back. "Maybe I should just go," she mumbled, skidding on the puddles left behind by the snow she'd brought in with her as she gathered up her coat. 

"Wait," Clarke said, and her fingers closed around Lexa's arm before she could slip it into her sleeve. "Alexandria..."

"Lexa," she said automatically. "I'm only Alexandria at work." 

"Lexa," Clarke said, and fuck her entire life, the way it sounded coming from her lips did things to Lexa's brain... among other things... that she didn't want to let herself think about. "You don't—please don't go. Murphy's already making your burger, and I already poured your drink, and I can explain. I swear."

Lexa finally looked Clarke in the eye, and she knew then and there it was all over. She wasn't going anywhere, no matter what stupid thing came out of her mouth next. Not until that look, that 'I know I fucked up please let me make this right' look, was gone from Clarke's eyes. 

_Useless,_ she cursed herself as she went back to the bar, although the voice in her head sounded an awful lot like her best friend Anya used to. _You are absolutely useless._ Anya had always said it with rolling eyes and a fond smile; Lexa's admonition to herself was a little more biting. 

"I work for a bank," Clarke said as Lexa settled back onto her stool. "That's my day job. My main job. This just keeps me in paint and paper and whatever." She shrugged. "One of the things that I do is process the travel notifications that people submit online, putting the information into the card system so hopefully their card doesn't get blocked while they're traveling. I don't actually know you. I just recognized your name. And address. Which sounds a little stalker-y when I say it like that. I don't mean it to be. I would never..." Clarke trailed off, looking down at Lexa's license again... because she was still holding it.

She shoved it, along with Lexa's drink, across the bar. "These are yours," she said. "On the house."

Lexa shook her head. "You don't have to do that," she said. "I can pay."

"Please," Clarke said. "As an apology for making things weird."

"You didn't," Lexa said. "Really." 

"It's still on the house," Clarke said. "You can get the next round." 

"You're not drinking," Lexa pointed out. 

"Maybe I should fix that," Clarke said. One corner of her mouth curled up into a smirk, and Lexa's stomach fluttered. "Promise you won't tell?"

"Who would I tell?" Lexa asked, meaning for it to be lighthearted, but the reality of the statement struck her and her attempt at a smile, like the flight she was supposed to be on right now, never made it out of the gate. 

Who _would_ she tell? There was no one in the bar, and outside of it, there was still no one. Her co-workers smiled to her face but would happily stick a knife in her back if it got them ahead. She'd lost all of her friends in the divorce... not that they'd ever gotten married. Costia had laughed when she'd suggested it, drunk on champagne and her first successful negotiation, asking her how they could possibly get married when Lexa was already married to her job? She'd been joking then; it was before Lexa had started traveling all the time. Later, the same words had become an accusation.

Lexa didn't blame her. She didn't blame any of them. Only Anya had stuck by her, but then when Anya needed her, she wasn't there. 

She wasn't fucking there.

* * *

Clarke reached across the bar, brushing her fingers against Lexa's, hoping she could pull her back from whatever dark well she'd just fallen into. "Hey," she said. "Here." She reached under the bar and got another cherry, dropping it into Lexa's drink. "Whatever it is, it can't be so bad that an extra cherry won't fix it, right?"

_God, shut **up**. What are you even **doing**?_ But Clarke couldn't stand the way Lexa's eyes had darkened, how her spine had stiffened and her face gone slack, like she'd just... disappeared so far into herself that what was left behind was just a shell. 

"I'm just going to keep adding cherries until you tell me to stop," Clarke said, adding a third, and then a fourth. "So unless you really like cherries..." 

Lexa's face twitched, and light flickered in her eyes, but Clarke was already on cherry number seven before she finally slid her fingers out from under Clarke's, tipping her hand up to signal surrender. "Enough," she said, the word catching like she was fighting back tears or a laugh... or maybe a little of both. 

"Are you sure?" Clarke asked. "Because I've got plenty more."

Lexa let out a breath, and it was definitely more of a laugh this time. "I'm sure," she said. "Thank you." She slid the drink closer to herself, and lifted one of the cherries by the stem, depositing it in her mouth and then sucking it from the stem. 

Which was, Clarke thought, decidedly unfair. If this was a fight, Lexa was definitely hitting below the belt. Question was, did she know it? 

Clarke poured herself a drink and took a quick gulp, figuring that the alcohol would give her an excuse if her face was flushed. She was grateful when they were interrupted by Murphy coming out of the kitchen with two plates, which he dumped unceremoniously on the bar before disappearing back through the swinging door.

"Thank you!" Clarke called after him, and she thought she might have heard a grunt in response. She nudged one plate toward Lexa and picked a fry off the other, biting into it and chewing slowly. She went over to one of the tables to get a bottle of ketchup, and when she came back her plate had been moved in front of the stool next to Lexa's. 

"There's no one here," Lexa said. "You might as well sit."

Clarke smiled at her and boosted herself up, swinging her knees back and forth a couple of times before settling in to eat. She picked up the burger Murphy had made and took a bite, and her eyes went wide. "This is _good_ ," she said. "Looks like culinary school is paying off."

Lexa raised an eyebrow, too polite to talk with her mouth full. 

"He goes to classes during the day and works here at night," Clarke said. "I guess he worked in kitchens before, on and off, but mostly just bounced from job to job – some more legitimate than others – until he met the one girl in the world willing to not only put up with his snarky nihilism, but actually love him for it – and decided to make something of himself." 

Lexa's answering smile was forced, her lips pressed so hard against each other white showed around them, and Clarke wished she could take back whatever it was she'd said that had upset her, but she didn't know which part of it had been the needle that had pricked her. So she just reached for Lexa's drink and fished one of the cherries out, offering it to her in lieu of an apology.

Lexa's expression softened, and her fingers brushed Clarke's as she took it and bit it from the stem. Her nose wrinkled. "Not sure that did anything to enhance the flavor profile he was going for," she said. She washed it down with a swallow of her drink... which by this point was probably pretty cherry-flavored too, and almost as sweet.

"Ooh, food writer," Clarke said. "That wasn't one I'd thought of." 

Lexa paused with a fry halfway to her mouth. "Food writer?"

"When you start seeing the same names coming up over and over again in travel notifications, you can't help but try to imagine the person behind them and what their story might be," Clarke said. "At least I can't." She shrugged.

Lexa looked at her long enough that Clarke wanted to squirm. It had seemed a harmless enough game while she was doing it, but she'd never expected to meet any of the people whose lives she had dreamed up. "Well?" Lexa prompted. "What's my story?"

"You travel for work," Clarke said. "Most of the time you can tell when someone is going on vacation, either based on the destination or the length of time that they're staying, or both. With you, the trips are all pretty short, and mostly during the week, so it wasn't like you were some wealthy jet-setter, heading to Paris for the weekend." 

"You're not wrong," Lexa said. She wasn't smiling, exactly, but there was a light in her eyes that hadn't been there before that did more to warm Clarke from the inside than the alcohol. "So what did you decide I do?"

"At first I thought you might be a travel writer, even a travel blogger, but aside from the occasional trip to LA, Chicago, London, most of the places you were headed weren't ever going to make a Top Ten Tourist Hot-Spots list... or even a Top 100. So unless you were writing about some really niche stuff, that didn't seem likely either. But I hadn't thought about the possibility of you being a food writer. If countless, and seemingly endless, marathons of Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives has taught us anything, it's that you can find good food just about anywhere. But that doesn't explain why you keep coming back here..." She flashed Lexa a wink, and then thought she might have to remember the first aid training she'd received back in her babysitting days when she almost choked. 

"I'm not any kind of writer," Lexa wheezed, after she'd managed to swallow and stopped coughing. "And the food's not bad."

"It's not _good_ , either," Clarke said. "Honestly, you can probably get better inside the airport."

"Don't let the cook hear you say that," Lexa said, and Clarke thought she might actually be teasing. 

"You're lucky he's working tonight and not the other guy. He only knows how to make burgers one way: extra crispy."

"I thought that was fried chicken," Lexa said.

Clarke grinned. "Exactly." They were quiet for a few minutes, finishing their food before it got cold. Clarke returned the plates to the kitchen, along with a full glass of beer, because who was going to tell? She poured fresh drinks for herself and Lexa while she was at it, and Lexa transferred the remaining cherries from one glass to the next. 

"Any other guesses?" Lexa asked. 

Clarke considered. "Traveling salesperson?" Lexa shook her head. "Self-help guru?" 

Lexa laughed. "Getting colder." 

"Fine," Clarke said, sticking out her lip in a pout. "What _do_ you do?"

"I'm a corporate mediator," Lexa said, her back straightening and a hint of pride creeping into her voice. "I come in to try to smooth things out, either between companies or within them, before it hits the point of litigation. Theoretically, it means that I help the two... sometimes more... parties reach an agreement that benefits them both, but considering that most of the time it's a bunch of men arguing over the size of their... _egos_ , it usually means that both sides walk away feeling like they got screwed." 

Clarke snorted. "And suddenly it all makes sense," she said. "You thought I'd been part of one of your negotiations." 

Lexa nodded. "And I thought I was going to end up on my ass in the snow." 

"Never," Clarke said. "Well, not unless you got drunk and belligerent, but that doesn't seem like your style." 

"No?" Lexa looked down, then up again at Clarke through her eyelashes. "What's my style then?"

* * *

Lexa regretted the words as soon as she said them. Except she didn't. Maybe she regretted the fact that she didn't regret them? She knew that flirting with Clarke – and that's what she was doing, wasn't it? What _they_ were doing? – wasn't going to lead to anything. How could it? As soon as the snow cleared, she would be off to another city, and then another city after that. 

Because she loved her job. She loved the satisfaction of knowing that she had settled a dispute fairly and equitably, of knowing that even if they didn't want to admit it, she'd brought people together, turned them from opponents into allies, or at least cordial acquaintances. 

But it didn't leave much room for anything else, and it was exhausting.

She was exhausted. 

She didn't even have a place to call home anymore. After she'd come home to an apartment empty of everything but the furniture, her clothing, and a note that said, 'I can't be the Other Woman anymore. – C.' she hadn't renewed the lease. She'd moved into Anya's place – without Anya – and stayed for as long as she could stand. From there it had been a string of sublets and short-term rentals, until she'd finally given up on ever having the time (or the motivation) to look for a new place. She'd put her furniture in storage and gotten a room at an extended stay hotel. With cable, internet, and utilities included, it worked out to be cheaper than paying rent on a place she never was. 

But it did something to you on the inside to know that when you came 'home' it was really just another room that didn't belong to you. It was someone else's art on the walls, someone else's choice of upholstery and drapes, someone else's pots and pans and dishes in the sad excuse for a kitchen, even. Every time she walked through the door, no matter how successful the trip had been, she felt like a failure. 

So she just turned around and went back out the door again as soon as she could.

Then one night she'd stumbled out of the airport, exhausted and cranky and _starving_ after a long flight that had been delayed so many times it had almost become a red-eye, and into a bar that boasted 'Kitchen Open Late' in the window. There were people inside, which was a good sign, some of them sitting at tables with plates of food, which was better. She'd gone inside... and almost tripped over her own tongue when she caught a glimpse of the girl – woman – behind the bar. She'd quickly averted her eyes when she glanced up, and tucked herself into a table as far away from her as possible while still maintaining a clear line of sight. 

She'd ordered a burger and fries and a rum and coke, and had spent the next half-hour listening to the ghost of Anya laugh at her, telling her to 'just go talk to her, slip her your number, do _something_.' She hadn't. She'd just left when her food was gone, wobbly-kneed, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol. 

She'd gone back the next time that she'd flown home, but it was someone else at the bar. Trial and error taught her that her bartender ('She's not yours if you won't _talk to her_ ,' ghost-Anya jeered) only worked on weekends, and she might-or-might-not have attempted to arrange her travel accordingly. For the first time since Costia had left her, she actually looked forward to coming back from wherever she'd gone that week.

Lexa knew that Clarke had caught her sneaking looks more than once (sometimes more than once a night) and she wasn't naïve enough to think that Clarke couldn't figure out that it was more than coincidence. But Clarke never approached her, and no matter how many times the memory of her one-time best friend and wing-woman called her a useless lesbian, she couldn't quite work up the nerve to go up to the bar and say hello. 

Yet somehow, finally, here she was, waiting for Clarke to tell her what her style was, since Clarke had decided she wasn't the belligerent drunk type.

"Cautious," Clarke said after a moment. "Not shy, but reserved. You're the kind of person who does their research before making a decision; you're immune to the impulse buy stuff they put near the checkout. You want to be sure of the outcome before you even begin... which sometimes means you don't begin at all." She cocked her head, a smile tilting her lips. "Am I warm this time?"

_You're a fucking five-alarm fire,_ Lexa thought, but she didn't say anything. Any witty rejoinder she might have had dried up on her tongue. She reached for her drink, taking a too-big gulp that burned her throat. She fumbled for her napkin, but Clarke caught her hand before it could reach her mouth, and Lexa realized that Clarke's eyes hadn't strayed from her lips, not once, since they'd met her glass. Lexa's breath caught as Clarke leaned in...

... and the bell on the door shattered the moment and sent them scurrying back to their neutral corners on opposite sides of the bar. 

A police officer dressed in a reflective neon coat stepped inside. He tugged off his beanie and shook off the snow before securing it back over his ears. "How's everyone doing tonight?" he asked.

"We're fine," Clarke said. "How's your night going?"

The officer made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "There's already accidents all over," he said. "Every time we get snow, it's like people forget how to drive." He shook his head. "That's actually why I came in. We're going around, letting everyone know in case they hadn't heard, that they've announced the highways are being shut down at midnight. We're encouraging everyone to get off the streets as soon as possible, get home safe, save us all from having a bad night." He looked around. "Looks like maybe a lot of people already got the memo." 

Clarke grinned like the joke was a lot funnier than it was... if it had been meant as a joke at all. A knot of something ugly formed in Lexa's belly, and she clenched her jaw and smoothed her features to make sure it didn't show. "Looks like," she agreed. "I'll call my boss, let him know we're closing early. I don't figure he'll mind, considering."

"Sounds good," the officer said. "You gonna be able to get home all right?"

Clarke nodded. "It's not far." 

"All right. If you need anything, let me know." 

"I will," Clarke said, with another smile that made Lexa's stomach flip-flop, and not in a good way. She picked one of the last two cherries from her glass and bit it savagely from the stem, eyeing the officer as she crushed it between her teeth. He didn't seem to notice, just nodded to Clarke again before pushing back through the door and into the snow, which had definitely picked up since Lexa came in. 

"I should go tell Murphy," Clarke said. "Be right back." She disappeared into the back before Lexa could respond.

* * *

"Murphy!" Clarke said, the door swinging behind her. He was on a stool, his elbows propped on the prep table as he stared at the screen of his phone. The dishes they'd used were in the rack drying, and the rest of the place was spotless. He'd clearly already decided that additional customers were unlikely and was just biding his time until closing. 

He didn't even look away from his screen. "Yeah?"

"They're shutting down the highways, and want people off the roads, so I'm making the call and closing. I don't think it'll be an issue, but if it comes down to it, I'll make sure the boss knows it was my call and that you should be paid for your full shift."

That, at least, got him to look up. "Cool," he said. 

"Are you going to be okay getting home?" she asked. "I can give you a ride if—"

"It's only a few blocks," Murphy said. "I can walk." He took off his apron and tossed it into the laundry bin in the corner, then shrugged on his coat. "More time to get cozy with my lady," he said. "By which I mean—"

"I know what you mean, Murphy," Clarke said, rolling her eyes. 

"And if you've got any sense at all, you'll do the same with _your_ lady," Murphy added. 

"She's not my lady," Clarke said. "She's not my anything."

Murphy smirked. "Only because you haven't asked," he said. He shoved open the back door. "Bye, Clarke!"

"Go to hell, Murphy!" she called after him, but she couldn't help smiling. Murphy was an asshole, but every once in a while, a little hint of humanity broke through, and Clarke could see how he'd managed to catch and keep a girl as cool as Emori. 

Sometimes, though she hated to admit it, he was also right. 

She went back into the bar, afraid that Lexa might have decided to use her brief absence as an opportunity to disappear, but she was still there, choking her scarf in white-knuckled hands and staring at a spot on the floor a few feet in front of her. Clarke looked quickly, thinking maybe she'd seen a mouse or something, but there was nothing there. "Lexa?"

Lexa blinked, her gaze slowly shifting to Clarke's face. Her eyes first, and then her mouth, and then lower, and then back to her eyes with a flicker of guilt and teeth digging into her lower lip. "Clarke—"

"Do you—" they both started, and then stopped.

"You go first," Lexa said quickly.

Clarke shook her head. "I didn't mean to cut you off." 

Clarke watched her chest and shoulders rise as she hitched in a breath, her mouth opening, but nothing came out. No words, not even air. It seemed like an impossibly long time that she stood there, not breathing, before she said in a rush, "Doyouwanttocomewithme?"

It took a second for Clarke's mind to separate the words. "Where?" she asked.

"The... hotel," Lexa said. "My company is putting me up since my flight was canceled, and I thought since it's close, rather than driving home you might... want to..." Which made it sound purely pragmatic, but Clarke knew it was more than that. After weeks – months – of stolen glances and thirsty looks, Lexa had finally put herself out there. It was clear that it hadn't been easy; color spilled across Lexa's cheeks and down her neck, painting the tips of her ears scarlet. 

Clarke had never been more turned on in her life. "Let me get my coat."

* * *

The walk to the hotel was short but slippery, so the fact that they clung to each other's hands and arms was a practical decision, necessary for balance, and not in any way meaningful... or so Lexa tried to convince herself as her heart pounded harder against her ribs and heat spread through her belly and outward to the tips of her fingers and toes, so that even the staggering wind that had kicked up couldn't chill her. 

The doorman nodded at her as he pulled it open for them, and she nodded back. She was here often enough that they knew her face, and she knew theirs... at least when they weren't so wrapped up in coats and scarves that she could only see his eyes. "Have a good night," he said as they passed.

"Try to stay warm," she replied. 

"You too," he said, and Lexa would have sworn he winked, but maybe he'd just gotten a snowflake in his eye or something. 

Once inside the teeming lobby (passengers of canceled flights needing a place to stay, Lexa assumed) they bypassed the desk and headed straight for the elevators. Lexa was glad that she had missed the rush. It wasn't until they were in the elevator, Clarke pressed against her side as some middle-aged man in a suit jammed his suitcase into her personal space, that Lexa realized that Clarke hadn't let go of her arm, even when they were no longer in danger of slipping on icy sidewalks. 

"This is us," Lexa said softly when they reached her floor, and they edged their way out between people and luggage who seemed completely unconcerned about making space, even though it would give them more breathing room once they were off. Lexa felt Clarke's hand slide from her elbow to her wrist, like she was finally letting go, and on impulse, Lexa caught her fingers before they could slide away completely. "This way," she said, leading her to her room. 

It took a couple of minutes to shed all of their outer layers and get them hung up in the small closet, and Lexa grabbed a towel from the bathroom to put their shoes on to keep the salt and sand and whatever else melted off them from staining the carpet. That done, they just stood there, looking at each other, Lexa uncertain and Clarke... she couldn't read Clarke's expression, but she was here, wasn't she? And there had been that moment back at the bar, and...

_Are you kidding me?_ , Anya squawked. _Don't make me go all Little Mermaid on your ass._

Lexa swallowed back a laugh. Anya was right. She _was_ useless... but she didn't have to be. She reached up and brushed a thumb along Clarke's jaw, cradling the side of her neck, and drew her in. When their mouths met, it was soft, and sweet, and everything Lexa had imagined and more as Clarke's lips parted against hers and the tip of her tongue flicked against Lexa's lower lip, her hands resting on Lexa's hips with a gentle pressure that fitted their bodies against each other perfectly, like they were meant to be like this. 

Lexa's mind spun and she pulled away slowly, nuzzling against Clarke's temple as she tried to catch her breath. "I have wanted to do that for so long," she whispered. 

"I've wanted you to do it for a longer," Clarke said. 

Lexa blinked dazedly, tipping her head so she could see Clarke's face. "That doesn't make sense," she said. 

Clarke shrugged. "Maybe I had a premonition," she said. "Maybe this was foretold. Written in the stars. Maybe we knew each other in a past life, and—"

Lexa laughed. "Do you believe in any of that?" 

"Maybe," Clarke said. "Maybe not." Her lips tugged into a grin. "Can't you just take the win?"

Lexa kissed her again, harder this time, and Clarke responded by pushing up on her toes and leaning into her with enough force that Lexa's back collided with the wall, and a soft moan escaped her lips. Clarke swallowed it, savoring the taste of it and eliciting another as her hips ground up against Lexa's. 

Their path to the bed was awkward and stumbling as they tried to undress themselves and each other without breaking their kiss. It was a futile effort that left them laughing as they collapsed against each other on the bed, reduced to bras, underwear, Lexa's blouse dangling from her arms, and Clarke's jeans tangled around one ankle. They extricated themselves from the shirt and pants quickly, but Lexa hesitated as she reached for the clasp of Clarke's bra. 

"Are you sure?" she asked. "We barely—"

"I'm sure," Clarke said. "I want to—"

"Me too," Lexa said, and slowly, almost reverently, the last of what stood between them was peeled away.

* * *

Clarke felt Lexa's fingers tighten around hers as her lips grazed against her belly, just below her solar plexus, and she looked up to make sure she was all right. Lexa looked back at her, grimacing in apology. "It's been a while," she said softly. 

"That's okay," Clarke said. "I've heard it's like falling off a bicycle." 

Lexa's forehead furrowed, then she rolled her eyes as her lips curved into a crooked smile. "I'm pretty sure that's not how the saying goes," she said. 

"But it got you to smile," Clarke teased. Then, more seriously, "We can take it slow. If you need to stop—"

Lexa shook her head. "I don't want to stop. I just—"

"I know," Clarke said. "But if it gets to be too much, tell me. Please." 

"You too," Lexa said. "If—"

"I will," Clarke said. "I promise." She pushed herself up to capture Lexa's lips again, sealing the vow with a kiss, and this time when she made her way down Lexa's body, when Lexa crushed her fingers it was only because she couldn't help it as muscles contracted and released, once, then again, before she tugged Clarke back up and twined around her. Her breath was hot against Clarke's skin as she slowly recomposed herself, her fingers digging into Clarke's back and hips like she was afraid she might slip away. 

"I'm not going anywhere," Clarke reassured her, and Lexa nodded, her cheek soft against Clarke's shoulder. She pushed aside the thought that in the morning, or at some point tomorrow anyway, Lexa _would_ be going somewhere – somewhere stupid like Indiana, if she remembered correctly – and she wouldn't be back for days, and even when she did come back, she would be gone again soon enough. She told herself it didn't matter, that this wasn't serious, but she wasn't very good at lying, especially to herself. It didn't matter that they hadn't spoken before tonight; it felt like this had been building since the first time they saw each other, one stolen glance at a time. Maybe it was ridiculous; real relationships didn't work like that. But Clarke wasn't really the one-night stand type, and she didn't think Lexa was either. So if this wasn't that, it had to be something else, but what could it possibly be? Was she willing to have a relationship with someone who was only ever around on weekends, and not even all of those? Who she couldn't meet for lunch on a whim, or call to come over when she'd had a bad day and could use some company? 

"Clarke?" Lexa was looking at her, forehead creased with concern, and Clarke reached up to rub the lines away. Lexa caught her hand and kissed her fingertips. "What's wrong?"

Clarke smiled. "Nothing you can't kiss and make better," she told her. 

Lexa didn't look like she believed her, not entirely, but she didn't argue. Her kiss was tender, until it wasn't, and her fingers gliding over Clarke's curves were the same. Her touch was soft, almost teasing, until Clarke growled her frustration, and then it became firm, but those long, elegant fingers were gentle as they slid between Clarke's legs, parting the slick folds and pressing into her, a little at first and then deeper, and Clarke groaned and clenched around them, her hips rolling as Lexa's thumb found her clit. 

And it really was like falling off a bicycle, as Clarke crested the hill and came crashing down the other side of it, and she crushed Lexa against her, her thighs clamped around her hand, as she shuddered her way through her orgasm. She buried her face against Lexa's neck so she couldn't see the tears that pricked her eyes, because, it turned out, it had been a while for her, too, since she'd had someone who could make her feel like _that_.

* * *

Lexa tipped her face down, nuzzling against Clarke until she turned so Lexa could kiss her, smiling into it because she couldn't help herself and didn't want to. She kissed Clarke until the tears in her eyes dried, kissed her until that was all there was, until the entire world was just the two of them, together, in this moment. 

They talked a little and didn't talk a lot, and it had gone past late and into early before they finally slept, a tangle of soft, sated limbs so entwined Lexa could barely tell the boundaries of where she ended and Clarke began. 

She woke only a few hours later to soft kisses along her shoulder and neck and jaw, and surrendered without question or thought to them, letting Clarke have any and every part of her that she wanted, taking the same for herself when she could breathe and think and move again. After, she ran her fingers through Clarke's hair. "Hungry?" she asked. 

"I just ate," Clarke said, grinning, and Lexa laugh-groaned, half because the joke was terrible and half in memory. 

"For _food_ ," Lexa said. "Breakfast? Brunch?"

Clarke glanced toward the window, where the glare off the snow filtered around the closed drapes. "It's cold," she said, "and snowy."

Lexa kissed her nose. "We don't even have to get out of bed," she said, grabbing the room service menu from the nightstand and handing it to her. They cuddled together while they waited for their food, talking about nothing more important than favorite movies and shows because neither of them was ready or willing to face reality yet. 

They had just finished eating when Lexa's phone began buzzing insistently, dragging the world outside into their bed whether they liked it or not. 

Clarke grabbed it from where it had landed on the floor and handed it to her, and she checked the screen. She'd been rebooked onto a flight that was scheduled to take off early that afternoon. Which gave them a little time, but not enough. Not nearly enough, because Lexa didn't think there was an amount of time that would feel like enough. 

"I should get up," she said softly. "Shower, get dressed..."

"I should come with you," Clarke said, and Lexa didn't say no. 

They both pretended that what ran down their cheeks as they pressed against each other under the rainfall shower was just water. They both acted as if they didn't notice the faint tang of salt on each other's lips. They wrapped each other in towels and then in their arms, and they didn't say anything because it was too hard and what was there to say anyway?

Lexa got dressed in fresh clothing from her suitcase while Clarke put back on what she'd been wearing the day before. Lexa stuffed her dirty clothes into the plastic bag she kept just for that purpose and tucked them in with everything else, zipping her suitcase and turning to look around the room and make sure she wasn't forgetting anything. She pretended it wasn't a knife to the heart when her eyes snagged on Clarke and she had to force them past. 

She patted her pocket for her phone and found it missing, and she looked around again, only to have it pressed into her hands by Clarke, along with a piece of hotel memo paper with a phone number scribbled on it. "Text me when you land," she said. "So I know you're safe."

Lexa nodded. "I will."

Clarke nodded too, and let her go.

* * *

Clarke went home and changed into clean clothes, grateful for the fact that, against all odds, her work was closed (how could they expect people to come in when the highways were shut down?) because she would have been absolutely useless sitting in front of a computer today. She got out a sketchbook and lost hours trying to capture Lexa... not just the look of her, but the feel of her, her presence, her... soul, for lack of a better word. She wasn't aware of how late it had gotten until her phone buzzed and a text from an unknown number appeared: _I'm safe._

Clarke squeezed her eyes shut, her heart swelling and breaking at once. She'd remembered. She quickly saved the number to her contacts, then texted back.

**Clarke:** I'm glad. 

Then, quickly, she typed out a second message.

**Clarke:** When will you be home?

Three dots appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again. 

**Lexa:** Shouldn't you know that already? 😉

Clarke laughed. 

**Clarke:** I don't MEMORIZE your travel plans.

**Lexa:** Friday. If things go well, maybe sooner.

**Clarke:** I hope things go well, then.

**Lexa:** Me too.

* * *

Lexa couldn't remember the last time she'd changed her flight to get home sooner than scheduled. If anything, if she was somewhere at least moderately interesting, she was likely to do the opposite unless she had another job lined up right away. But she'd been texting back and forth with Clarke over the last few days, and when the negotiation had gone more smoothly than she'd even dared to hope, she'd found herself with the opportunity to get a red-eye flight home on Wednesday night. 

She stumbled off the plane, having barely slept due to a combination of nerves and the man next to her consistently tipping over into her space every time he nodded off. She was half-convinced he wasn't as asleep as he pretended to be and was doing it on purpose, although to what end, she didn't know, unless he got off on elbows jabbing into him to shove him back into his own seat. 

She cleared the gate area and was about to head for the taxi stand when she was stopped by a voice calling her name. It echoed in the near-empty terminal, and she spun around, trying to pinpoint its source. She found herself face-to-face with Clarke, and she stumbled back in surprise. 

Clarke caught her, yanking her into a hug, her lips brushing Lexa's neck, and that was all it took. Lexa melted against her, tears springing to her eyes that she couldn't hold back. 

"Welcome home," Clarke said, when she finally pulled away, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. 

Lexa blinked. "I don't have a home," she said. 

Clarke drew her into a kiss so soft and sweet and perfect that it left Lexa trembling in her arms. Clarke's forehead rested against her and their noses brushed, and somehow it felt even more intimate than the kiss. And then she whispered words that shattered Lexa and made her feel whole for the first time in forever: "You do now."


End file.
